


Waking next to you

by silvercolour



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon? I Pretend I Do Not See It, Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Post-MAG180, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, no hurt only comfort, thats it just fluff and sharing a bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26635327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour
Summary: The one where there’s only one bed- because I can.SPOILERS FOR MAG180
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 26
Kudos: 217





	Waking next to you

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re here I’m assuming you’ve heard MAG180- this fic technically has spoilers, but they’re more context than anything else, it’s really just fluff!

Martin wakes slowly, and for a moment, two moments even, he doesn't know where he is. For two too-short, blessed moments, not even a minute, he relaxes, lets go of what stress he was feeling, and simply lays there under the soft warmth of the nest of blankets and keeps his eyes closed, listening to the birdsong outside and Jon’s even breathing beside him in their bed.

Then his stomach growls.

It’s a fierce growl, like an animal not allowing itself to be ignored, and sounds very, _very_ loud in the morning quiet. Martin crunches his eyes further shut. The noise is accompanied by a pang of hunger that is even harder to ignore, but he doesn’t want to leave, not yet. He pulls the blankets up and over his face, and hears Jon humm a small objection, presumably to cold feet.

They are not Martin’s blankets.

Martin opens his eyes to a surreal morning sun, and remembers. 

It’s remarkable how short, and how incredibly long two moments can seem in hindsight. This is the first time he’s had the ability, the _luxury_ even, of being able to not know what happened. The very first time since all of this started that he’s been able to forget. And it is here, in the lair of two monsters. Or more? Gods, there might be more people here, they don’t know _anything_ , and Jon can’t protect him here, and–

Eyes still closed, blankets that aren’t his pulled over his face, Jon still warm beside him, Martin makes a decision. It’s not a new decision, more a renewed determination of an old decision, like sunshine after rain. If Jon cannot protect them in this strange new world, then Martin will. And that starts right now, with letting him sleep.

Martin loosens his grip on the blanket, and turns to Jon, who pulls the blankets back to his side with an adorable frown on his face. He’s grimy, and looks it even more so against the pristine white of the sheets. Martin probably looks the same, if not worse. He didn’t have the magic ability of Knowing how to avoid the worst of the dirt.

Underneath the dirt Jon looks beyond tired, even while asleep. He looks like a year’s sleep might not be enough, like he might never want to wake. Martin huffs a soft laugh as the phrase _‘and true love’s kiss shall wake them’_ floats through his head.

There are many things they’ve been missing in the weeks (months? Definitely a number of weeks. Probably. Most likely. Martin never liked Doctor Who for this exact reason). The list is long, and not all the things in it are equally important, to be sure (dry socks are not to be sniffed at, however). The big items on the list however, are Food, and Rest. Followed immediately by Safety.

They now have at least one of those, although Martin’s stomach is trying to remind him it would be nice to have another one as well– and soon. The fact that they hadn’t needed food or rest while Out There doesn’t mean they haven’t missed it, Martin certainly has. He supposes the “food” part has been different for Jon. Still, even if he’s been… _consuming_ meals while they were on the road, Jon would probably still appreciate the normalcy, the comfort of an ordinary human meal.

And some tea that is actual tea, not tea made of spooky stuff.

Martin sighs, and worms an arm from under the heavy blankets to rub his eyes, and finally notices he’s still wearing all his clothes. Only his coat and shoes are missing, it seems, and the backpack. Twisting around to have a look at the room he spies all their gear laid out over two chairs, backpack and coats and shoes pushed neatly under the chairs. It all looks clean in the impossible morning sunlight that fills the room. And now that he’s noticed the sunlight Martin finds it hard to look away– he has missed the sun _so much_ without even realizing it. There were always bigger, and worse things to worry about, but a sun, and the clear sky it implies? It feels like a blessing. Martin could almost lie down in the spot of sunlight on the carpet, and sunbathe as though he were a cat, except then he’d have to leave the bed, and Jon.

The room they’re in is clean, and looks like it might belong in a fancy hotel or a manor house, well-kept and cleaned regularly. Martin wonders who has time to clean in this apocalypse– maybe the web has some people afraid of cleaning stashed away somewhere? He snorts at the thought and turns back to find Jon’s eyes open, and staring at him.

For a moment they do nothing but stare at each other in the silence of the room, as birds sing outside, and the sun creeps across the room. Then Jon breaks the silence: “Is this… real? Are _you_ real?” The words whisper the short distance across the too-clean sheets, as though they are afraid to shatter a dream and wake back to their usual nightmare.

Then again, in the usual nightmare Jon at least knows what is coming. This new blindness cannot be easy on him. And perhaps he’s hoping that this is a dream. Because if _this_ is a dream, then perhaps the past however-long of apocalypse was also a dream, and they’ll wake soon, and go back to a boring archival office job in the morning, and have a laugh about this silly dream of theirs.

Martin decides to just rip off the band-aid: “It’s real, Jon. We’re really here– wherever _here_ is.”

A disappointed look flits across Jon’s face for the briefest of moments. He really was hoping for it all to have been a dream, then. Martin can’t blame him for that useless hope, he’s felt it and wished for it often enough himself. Jon seems to process the information for a moment. His eyes unfocus, then refocus.

“I can’t– I can see _nothing_ in here Martin. I’m blind– _we’re_ blind. I know nothing in this stupid house, I can’t even see beyond it right now,” he is still whispering, as if he is afraid to be overheard. An even smaller whisper, a helpless thing: “I don’t know what to do.”

It’s such a striking difference from yesterday’s Jon that it breaks Martin’s heart a little. He was so excited to finally _not Know_ something, to finally see something new and unknown– in hindsight Martin is forced to wonder whether this excitement was really _Jon_ , or whether it was the Eye, finally about to learn new information in its Known World.

Martin decides not to dwell on that– there’s nothing he can do about it if he’s right, and no use fretting about it if he’s wrong. 

“Jon… C’mere,” he murmurs, and pulls Jon across the bed to himself. Jon folds his arms around Martin and clings tightly, seeking affirmation of this perceived reality that is Martin lying next to him. 

“Jon, I’ve been blind this whole time, and I’ve been fine, right?” Jon pulls back a little, and his face speaks volumes of the objection he’s about to voice, but Martin doesn’t give him the chance. “Yes, I know, I had you. But I still have you, and you still have me, and even if we do not have your Sight right now, we can still do this!” Martin rests his forehead against Jon’s, bumping their noses together.

“We’ve seen more, and been through more than any living being in this entire bloody apocalypse. If anyone can do this, it’s us,” He lifts his head back, and sees Jon sigh at the small loss of contact. A small smile drags itself across Jon’s lips, but it's still marred by worry.

“You’re right,” the admission is soft but it’s a victory nonetheless. Not Martin’s victory over Jon, but a small victory for both of them, against Jon’s fear, and constant worrying and– Martin hates this Apocalypse, really, truly _hates_ what the world has become, and the burden it has put on Jon. And yet. And yet, he’s seen more of Jon’s smiles here in this timeless fearscape than he ever has before. He’d give all of it up, in a heartbeat, without a second thought, if the world could go back to what it was before. But now that it’s happened? There’s no one he would rather spend the apocalypse with.

“And besides, there’s one thing here that you do Know, right?” Martin says, his smile mischievous. He’s using the verb _Knowing_ , instead of knowing, even though that is technically not correct. But that’s not the point.

Jon blinks in confusion, owlish and adorable: “Do I?”

“You know I love you, right?” Martin says, smile growing with every word. He might be phrasing this as a question, but they both know the answer. However, the fact that they both know the answer does not mean Martin doesn’t delight in making Jon say it every chance he gets

Jon’s answering smile is at least as bright as the sunlight filling the room, and Martin could happily bask in it forever: “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this story, and (like me) believe that they deserve All The Soft Endings: I’ve got you fam! I have a hurt/comfort collection [right here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Silvertmahcweek) for these trying times! (And yes, I am absolutely still working on the vampire AU in there, don’t worry; it’s just taking a little longer than I hoped to get everything right)
> 
> Please let me know what you think and leave a comment, I love hearing from you guys!


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